


The Things We Do

by Meg97



Series: Kingdom Hearts Drabble Prompts. [22]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Canon But AU, M/M, NSFW, Smut, The World Needs More LeaKu, This Is ( Part Of? ) My Contribution, Vampire!Riku
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 18:20:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12870339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meg97/pseuds/Meg97
Summary: Sometimes, he wonders if his natural disposition is just an excuse, in the things they do.





	The Things We Do

Sometimes, he wonders if his natural disposition is just an excuse, in the things they do.

He thinks on this, perhaps most ironically, when they’ve gotten past that stage and into the next; where crimson no longer stains skin but instead sheets of ivory, shifted by hips sharply, harshly insisting against his own.

If there’s any time to hate living in a tropical summer biome, it’s right now -- though he’s cold-skinned, the Islands are still humid even in the latest hours of the evening, to the point his skin’s sweaty and his hands are clammy.

Granted, that could be for a different reason - friction against his inner thighs, lips locked wetly with his own, or just general passing of body heat ( forms pressed so tightly together it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins, blunt nails finding easy purchase in the crevices of his skin, sending shivers down his spine with each marking scrape, burning invisible lines wherever they touch ) ---- with so many options, so many possibilities, it’s difficult to tell what the true cause is.

His own hands have easily placed themselves among flaming strands, pulling and tugging at their own leisure ( any complaints are easily dissuaded by louder sounds of pleasure, of which rile him in turn; a never-ending cycle ) and the heat is almost unbearable------

Maybe they’re a little bit masochistic and sadistic in their own ways, a different kind of hunger, another kind of beast, than the one Riku’s used to having to tame ( though no less wild in it’s own right, admittedly ) but at least it’s somewhat--- healthier ( again, arguable - but his mouth is otherwise occupied, and he doesn’t exactly have time for arguments right now, thank you very much ).

A particular shift of hips against him has him seeing white, lips parting from their lock to release a light hitch of breath, maybe even a gasp of sorts. The arching of his back is a natural responsive reflex, in which blazing fingers gladly take more purchase, raking down his spine from shoulder blades to his lower back -- which really only has him suppressing a shiver, arching a bit more, tugging on ashen strands.

In his brief moment of reprieve ( more torture than anything ; why have they stopped moving? ), with his head buried in soft pillows, the ceiling’s a blur, and he’s barely able to make out a form in his peripheral vision. His skin feels uncomfortably clammy, chest tight and almost claustrophobic, lungs finally able to simply take in oxygen rather than release proof of pleasure.   
He hates how he can so easily tell where exactly Lea is, sometimes -- the heat of his skin radiates, and lips trailing from the corner of his mouth to the crux of his neck and shoulder leave a hot trail in their wake. 

He hates how teeth graze his skin, as if mocking ( or at least making reference to ) who and what he is, before they place themselves wherever they like and promptly press to turn his skin blue, black, purple -- Lea’s enjoying it far too much, that much he knows, by the smirk that’s all but imprinted into his skin, sending more shivers down his spine and another sound from his throat. Hips snap back and continue their previous rhythm, to which he’s sure his eyes could almost roll into the back of his head from the mere  _friction_  -- and all oxygen he’d previously been trying to gather is lost from his lungs again, thrown back to the air in another soundless exhale.

It’s times like this he’s glad the house is empty ( otherwise, they’d hardly be in this kind of position ) and, as much as he might wish to open a window to let out the air that practically steams around them, licking wetly against the glassy view of dark, lapping waves, it’s better for keeping in the sound to have them closed.

He’s tried, before, to place his hands upon shoulders or the large of Lea’s back - but there’s too much warmth, heat, moisture, to the point they merely slip, even when he’d insisted on digging in his nails ( not, he’d noted, to any complaint from the recipient, but merely protrusion of shoulder blades in a way that promises pleasure, not pain, and he’d been rewarded with a sharp, heavy press of hips against him for his troubles ) but hands in flaming locks is equally as appropriate.

One would probably argue that he should be the one giving, not receiving, given his so-called ‘disposition’; in which case he’d likely argue with the ( probably ) rhetorical question of ‘how do you know I haven’t?’ -- it’s not like going more than one round is a foreign idea to either of them ( if anything, it’s the complete opposite ) but he’s giving as much as he’s receiving, in his own ways.

( Besides, if he thinks on it too much, he gets self-conscious ; Lea does so much for him, gives him so much, and what does he do in return? Take, and take, and take some more - with really only friendship and a mutual sexual agreement to help keep the balance. He ( and sometimes Lea ) argues that that’s enough-- heck, even just the friendship on it’s own would’ve been ; but he doesn’t doubt that there are people out there who would argue otherwise. )

Not that he has time to think on things like that in moments like this - he’s too focused on the raw sensations, that slowly building pressure pooling golden in his stomach, as well as shifting himself to get the best angle for the situation.  
Sometimes he gives more than he receives, too -- so it balances out equally, at least most of the time.

_**“Fuck---”** _

He’s not normally one for cursing ( it’s a Disney franchise, after all ) and even this much is so quiet, devoid of breath to speak it with, that it’s probably barely heard, if at all -- but it’s what Lea gets for an insist of his hips that causes Riku’s vision to flash white again, stars just on the horizon. The tension in his gut is almost unbearably tight, fully prepared to release whether he’d like it to or not -- and the expletives probably clue Lea in to this in the first place.

( It definitely does, if the hot puff of breath against his skin is anything to go by. )

He’s at least able to earn a sound for himself, a groan of satisfaction, with his inner walls clenching around Lea for all he’s worth. It adds to the friction, makes him acutely more aware of every press and push inside, adrenaline pumping in his ears blocking out any sound he might make as he tilts his head back, pale skin and a curtain of messy silver.

_“Inside?”_

One would think Lea’s got the superhuman speed with how he’s suddenly puffing breath against Riku’s cheek, lips detached from that patch of skin on his shoulder which has surely gone purple, near-black, by now - though admittedly, Riku himself is barely able to hear the request against the loud drumming of blood and adrenaline in his ears. He’s more aware of fingers burning hot trails as they shift from his back to the curve of his hips, finding tight and comfortable purchase there - and really, if nothing else, that word ( the implications, the fact Lea seems to be asking it while trying to not sound like he’s begging ) is what has a bit of pre smearing his stomach.

_**“Please.”** _

His entire body ignites with slight embarrassment at how desperate it must sound, and yet the bigger part of him, the part stuck in the intensity of the moment, really couldn’t care less. He’s hardly able to put much behind it other than force, really, as it’s only a puff of breath leaving his lungs empty -- and his insides clench, unclench, a little bit more, as if in preparation.

The following few thrusts are a bit more forceful, sheets shifting under their added weight, sticking to the skin of Riku’s back with seemingly added vigour ; though all it takes is a hot breath against his ear, followed by another that can’t even attempt to tussle platinum strands stuck to the side of his face, followed by a brief hitch and stutter of breath, and Lea seems to practically unravel on top of him.

It’s orgasmic, in it’s own right, having so many things happen at once ---- nails dig even tighter into the skin at his hips, lips locking with his own in a sloppy yet meaningful way; and skin continues to press and insist against his own even with pleasure so freely coursing.  
These hadn’t been the types of stars he’d been hoping to see while on his travels - but they’re another kind he’s grateful to have the experience of seeing, on the backs of his eyelids, body stilling and simply riding out the shocks.

When it’s over, there’s suddenly silence, save for harsh breathing and his heart thumping heavily in his chest. Everything’s blurred, a bit glassy, but Lea’s exhaustion is evident despite that. His hands remove themselves, exposing Riku’s skin to the slightly cool but still scorching hot air, to place themselves palms-down on the pillows either side of Riku’s head. Foreheads pressed together, it’s relaxing, and soothing, to simply breathe -- and Riku moves his own hands to cup the other youth’s cheeks and jaw, thumbs brushing just under his eyes.

Emerald hues are lost to him under thick lashes and closed eyelids, for the briefest of moments - though they’re almost cat-like when they open again, gleaming bright even in the dark. It’s one of those small, quirky things that he enjoys about Lea, really -- besides his wit, personality, high sex drive- and everything else that makes him---- well,  _him_  -- though he doesn’t dare voice it.  
Lea probably knows anyway.

_“Better?”_

He’d scoff if he could find the breath to do so, but settles for rolling his eyes, twitching the corner of his lips, instead -- it’s too hot, the air too thick; and it’s probably going to start smelling like overcooked semen if they don’t clean up in the next few minutes -- so he settles for as little words ( and energy ) as he can muster.

_**“Better.”** _


End file.
